


Opened Up The Doors

by blueskypenguin



Series: Help 'Verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskypenguin/pseuds/blueskypenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer’s done, finished, and the apocalypse is over – though apparently, no-one told the demons and horsemen. God puts the boys on clean-up duty but their plan requires a deal with Death and it may well cost one angel his soul-mate. Meanwhile, Heaven has to adjust to a new mandate and the return of their Father with Sammael. It’s a fine line to walk, between allowing your angels free will and maintaining authority on that celestial plane, and one archangel is finding the reality of God’s return more difficult to handle than he’d imagined – all of which spells potential disaster for humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opened Up The Doors

He turned his head and faced south-east, “Lucifer’s vessel is dead.”

His companion raised an eyebrow, the only observable sign of surprise upon her face. “Are we going?”

“No,” he decided. “It’s being dealt with.” He turned away and continued walking down the busy street. The sea of bustling, Saturday shoppers on the London high-street parted for him and his companion, flowing around them like waves around the bow of a ship.

“Does that mean Sam Winchester has -”

He shook his head slowly, “He hasn’t. This is an... intriguing turn of events.”

“I hate it when you become overly enigmatic,” she sighed, though she didn’t seem particularly surprised by his behaviour.

“It is rare that something captures my interest in such a manner, my dear,” he admonished. He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. “And Lucifer no longer has me bound to his whims. I’d say that was worth a dramatic moment or two.”

She nodded; it was certainly worth it, if only for her to finally escape his frustration over Lucifer’s shackles upon him. “I’m glad to hear it. Has he been killed?”

“Not exactly. As I said, it is being taken care of and we need not concern ourselves. Now Tessa, we have work to do,” Death reached out a hand to tenderly skim the cheek of a passing young woman, her long blonde hair tied back fashionably and her friends chattering around her.

The girl was smiling, the lingering amusement of a well-told joke still present in her dimples. Her skin was flushed, her heart beating steadily.

Without apparent warning, that heartbeat began to flutter erratically. She no longer smiled, the searing pain in her chest catching her off-guard.

The press of people prevented her dropping heavily to the ground, and instead her friends took her weight, guiding her down with questions and worried eyes. Mobile phones were fished from pockets; one girl dialed 999 while another fished the girl’s own mobile from her bag to call her parents; the shoppers around her stopped their purposeful strides to their next purchase, looking for water, police officers, and help.

The girl lay dead on the pavement of Oxford Street.

Tessa took her hand.

“Abigail?”

Her pony-tail swung wildly as she looked around, at her body, at her friends, at the swarm of well-meaning bystanders and gawking tourists around her. “I’m... I’m dead?”

“I’m sorry.”

“But the medication,” she stared blankly down, her eyes seemingly fixed on the twisted fabric of her coat. “I took it, just like they told me,” her voice was barely a whisper. “I was meant to have surgery in three weeks.”

“You did everything right, Abigail,” Tessa assured her. “This is just the way things have to be.” She wrapped an arm around Abigail Shilton’s shoulders and they passed out of Death’s sight.

He turned his head again and faced south-east, “Interesting play. I trust you know what you’re doing, old friend.”

Death continued his stroll through the crowd.

* * *

“So the Morningstar has disappeared,” Crowley swirled the scotch in his glass and re-crossed his legs, his feet resting on Aziraphale’s desk. He’d been looking at the scotch for so long, the liquid not having passed his lips yet, that the few cubes of ice he’d poured it over had almost completely melted.

Was there anything more unholy than room-temperature scotch?

“And God has returned to Heaven?”

Aziraphale replaced a tome on the top shelf and replied absently, “Not exactly. Lucifer has disappeared; God and Sammael have returned to Heaven.”

“Oh yes,” the demon rolled his eyes – not black and not yellow, at least not right now. “We _must_ make that distinction.”

“God has,” Aziraphale pointed out. He turned and looked pointedly at Crowley’s feet until the demon sighed and removed them from the desk. “Clearly, Michael has - that’s all that matters. I thought you’d be happy, Crowley; there’ll be no more apocalypse. Once again, the destructive plans of Hell have been disrupted and we can continue to live in peace on Earth.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Angel, I just hope someone told Hell.”

* * *

There is a shift in the air before an angel appears; it is always more noticeable indoors, with the windows closed and little or no breeze. An angel in a hurry - or an angel on a mission - doesn’t care much for the imperceptible entry; a talented angel can go almost undetectable but for the tickle of a breath-like sigh across the skin.

It’s what makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end when you’re alone in a room with no threats or fears. It’s what makes you shiver and shudder and say, ‘that felt like someone was walking over my grave.’

Angels are silent, deadly and righteous.

“Oh, please,” papers fluttered, the windows rattled a little and the three men in the room jerked, startled when Gabriel made his hardly-inconspicuous entry, Castiel not far behind. “Just because Dad’s all _live-and-let-live_ , that doesn’t mean I have to be nice to the fluffy-feathered fake.”

“Gabriel-”

Sam set down his book, slipping a scrap of paper between the pages to mark his place as the two angels took the free seats on the couch beside him. Dean hovered in the doorway to the kitchen and Bobby watched silently from his desk. “Trouble in paradise?”

“What,” scoffed Dean, “Sammael not playing nice?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Sammael is the teacher’s pet. Hell, I don’t think he was even this _good_ in the pre-Humanity days. He and Michael are sickening, in a ‘I’m glad my siblings are happy’ kind of way. No – Raphael has taken his middle-child syndrome and run with it.”

“Raphael?” Dean dragged a hand wearily over his face. “That’s what the summons to Heaven was about?”

“Nah,” Gabriel propped his feet up on the coffee table and conjured himself a bag of gummy worms. He offered one to Sam, who grinned and plucked one from the packet before Gabriel took his own. “That was just Sunday dinner. Old habits die hard in our family – we just switch roles and the more things change, the more they stay the same. Aren’t you glad you joined us, Cas?” He grinned at his brother, who looked both proud and unimpressed. It was a special facial expression indeed. “The summons to Heaven was about Cas and I mopping up what’s left of the apocalypse on Earth.”

“And by ‘Cas and I’, you mean...” led Bobby.

“Bingo. Hey, boys?” Gabriel pulled on a gummy worm with his teeth, grinning widely. “We’ve got ourselves a mission from God.”

* * *

“You’re fond of this little form, aren’t you?” Gabriel smiled down at God. They sat on the hood of an old junker in Bobby’s yard, his feet braced against the floor and hers kicking against the grill.

She nodded as She smoothed her purple sundress down over her knees. Gabriel had begun to notice that the colour of her dress changed every time She stepped upon Earth, but the tennis shoes were always the same, white and laced. “I am, as a matter of fact. It’s refreshing,” She smiled up at Gabriel, “And Dean finds it difficult to be angry with me when I look like this.”

“Ah,” Gabriel huffed in amusement. “So you’ve talked to him?”

“I haven’t had the conversations with either of them I’d hoped to at this point. I’ve been... distracted,” She frowned, sitting more still than any human or angel could. “I’ll find time. I’ll make time. Meanwhile, I want you to continue what we discussed.”

“It’s going to be difficult. I think I know of a way to deal with this is one fell swoop, but...” He trailed off, not wanting to broach the specifics of his plan until he was sure. Of course, he knew She’d know of it already, but it was these little illusions which kept them trusting. “I don’t know if they’ll go for it.”

“I trust you, Gabriel.”

It was such a simple thing to say, but it was certainly something Gabriel wouldn’t get used to hearing. After so long, having this kind of casual conversation with his father was mind-boggling of itself; a father who was proud of him, who trusted him and who loved him after all Gabriel had done... that was a miracle. “Thanks,” he replied, voice a little hoarse.

“I’m worried about Raphael,” She confided. “Sammael’s return, and Michael’s unequivocal acceptance of it weren’t what he was expecting.”

“Yours either, I’d reckon,” he added. He hadn’t seen Raphael between leaving millennia ago, and their meeting only a short time after God and Sammael had returned to Heaven; but Gabriel had heard of Raphael’s desolate speech to Castiel. ‘ _God is dead,_ ’ he’d said.

No, Raphael wasn’t taking this well at all.

“I quite agree,” She ducked her head, hiding her face. It was a strangely humanising gesture for Gabriel to see her use. “I do hope he’ll adjust. It’s difficult to see him struggle this way.”

Gabriel said nothing. He kept silent, not because he had nothing to say, but because he knew She’d not wish to hear it.

He didn’t think Raphael would adjust to Sammael’s forgiveness, to God’s return and kinder, more gentle ways, or to Castiel’s elevation as a reward. He just didn’t know how Raphael would deal with it.

She turned her head, and Gabriel followed her line of sight to see Castiel, leaving the porch and walking towards the two of them. She smiled, the pride that filled her seeping through Gabriel’s grace. “Castiel, I would invite you to join us, but you are full of purpose and I would hate to distract you.”

“I am sorry to interrupt,” he inclined his head, “Robert believes he has found a way to track Pestilence.”

“Purpose indeed! We shall talk later, Castiel. I ought to return home, after all. I’ve spent longer down here, with you, than I’d planned,” She glanced sky-ward. “Good luck.”

* * *

“The flu outbreak?” Dean questioned. “It can be that simple? Dude, I was expecting the Black Death and smallpox and all that crap. Just flu?”

Sam sighed, “Dean, flu kills a few hundred thousand people a year, across the world.”

“Yeah, but the plague is, you know, _biblical_ ,” Dean settled into a sprawl beside his brother on the sofa. “I just expected more, I guess.”

“You’ll get more when you get close, believe me,” Gabriel warned. “He can give you everything from a sniffle of Rhinovirus to AIDS. That’s why when we go, you’ll be under protection so thick, the bastard could kiss you and you’d remain the picture of health.”

“Could have done without that image, thanks,” grumbled Bobby from the doorway. He’d shown the boys his data and retired to the outskirts while they discussed the details. Hunting for the remaining Horsemen was their God-given right; literally.

They ignored Bobby’s statement, more out of an effort not to develop the same mental images. “We have a plan for Pestilence, and for his effects when you are near him,” Castiel assured them all.

The two archangels, leaning against the desk, shared a look. Gabriel asked (as much as angelic, non-verbal communication could have such terms applied) if Castiel would support the rest of his plan. Sam noticed the exchange with interest – and suspicion. “What is it?”

Gabriel had a natural, panicked reaction to sensing that particular emotion from Sam. He had to remind himself of how they’d spent the last couple of days, and that Sam’s misgivings weren’t directed at him maliciously. Still, it was something of a shock, and part of Gabriel felt that he should have known things wouldn’t be so easy; it had only been two weeks since Gabriel had appeared in the panic room - three days since they’d slept together for the first time.

Despite having spent those three days in and out of bed, eating, laughing and thoroughly debauching one another, Gabriel had to make a conscious effort to remind himself that it hadn’t always been this way. Theirs was still a fledgling relationship, and one with years of violent history behind it.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, and two people with as many issues as they had between them couldn’t overcome them in three.

He focussed on Sam as he replied. “We can use the horsemen’s rings to open a door to Hell, and use an old Enochian ritual to force every demon walking the earth back down.”

The words took a while to sink in.

“Every last demon?” Dean leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “All of them?”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded, acknowledging Dean’s disbelief. “But there is a ...problem.”

“It’s not a problem,” Gabriel insisted. “Look, we want to open a portal. Originally, the horsemen’s rings would come together to open Lucifer’s cage. We could have tossed him back in, job done.”

“That information would have been very helpful a few months back,” Dean bitched, Sam in wholehearted agreement beside him.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, ignoring their ire. “Whatever, water under the proverbial bridge. Point is, the rings are next to useless alone; but if you bring more than one together, you can control some of the doorways to Heaven and Hell.”

“How many? If all four open the cage, do we need all four for an opening to Hell?” Sam’s suspicion was finally transformed into eager curiosity, bubbling through Gabriel and giving him a little more confidence in setting out his plan; even if it were the case that the more details the boys had, the less they would like it.

“Ideally?” Gabriel shrugged. “Yeah, it would make things a whole lot easier.”

“We have two,” Dean pointed out.

“Ah, but this is where the catch comes in.”

Castiel had his own gaze flitting from each person, as if to impart the seriousness to everyone at once. “The normal route into Hell is by death, through Purgatory.”

“To go straight to Hell, to not pass go and collect two hundred souls from the holy waiting room,” Gabriel sighed, “We need Death’s ring.”

* * *

They knew of only one way to get Death’s attention, and Dean drew the short straw.

“It’s going to be fine,” Gabriel was the one babbling away, but it was Castiel on whom Dean focussed. He looked calm, which wasn’t to say that the archangel _felt_ calm; Dean took some comfort from it anyway. Gabriel was still talking: “And besides... If something does go wrong, the only way is up and Dad will drop you back down as if you never left.”

“Gabriel,” Sam chided with a frown, “Not helping.”

“All you must do is speak with the Reaper,” Castiel repeated the plan. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice was gruff. “Yeah, but for the record, this ranks as ‘monumentally stupid’ on the scale of stupid plans we’ve tried.”

Gabriel nodded solemnly, silently agreeing. “Noted.”

The last thing Dean Winchester saw before he died was Gabriel’s fingers moving toward his face. There was a split second of contact between warm digits and dry skin; then Dean slumped back against the sofa pillows.

As Gabriel moved back to stand beside Sam (swallowing a crass joke about killing Dean – see, he could _learn_ ), Castiel manoeuvred Dean into a more comfortable position – he’d be pissed if he came back from the dead with a crick in his neck.

“Well,” Bobby poured himself a large scotch, “Here we go.”

* * *

He knew Bobby’s living room - or at least the room with the sofa and the television, which they called the ‘living room’ by default - had been full of people when he’d...

\- what had he been doing? They’d all been gathered around – why was that? He’d been... on the couch, and Gabriel wouldn’t shut up about how everything would be _just fine_ , and Castiel had been talking about Reapers, and –

Dean bowed his head, sighing.

He was dead. Again.

“You’re making something of a habit of this, Dean.”

The voice broke through the unnatural silence, and Dean turned. In the doorway, Tessa stood with her arms folded, leaning against the door frame, looking less than amused. Dean couldn’t quite believe his luck – a Reaper he actually knew? This could be easier than he’d thought.

“I’m as happy about it as you are,” he replied honestly.

“Hmm. You’re not sticking around this time though, are you?” Her eyes narrowed and she walked slowly toward him. “You’ve still got an angel on your shoulder.”

“Yeah, about that...” Dean sighed, trying not to feel intimidated by Tessa’s advance. “We need your help.”

“My help,” she repeated sceptically. She was just shy of _too close_.

He cleared his throat self-consciously. “Death’s help,” he corrected.

Tessa nodded, and her unchanging facial expression was really starting to freak him out. “And so you’re going through me. Wow, Dean. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

Her sarcasm didn’t make him feel any better but at least she was showing _some_ emotion. “Please, Tessa. It’s important.”

“It always is with you boys.” She stepped back and Dean relaxed muscles he wasn’t even aware he’d been tensing. “What is it you need, anyway? Rumour has it Lucifer’s gone.”

“Not exactly. It’s... complicated. Look, we’re the post-apocalyptic clean-up crew. We just need a little leg-up from your boss to get started.”

“I’m not calling him here without more detail, Dean,” she insisted. “If you hadn’t guessed, he’s a busy man. He has better things to be doing than stopping by for a chat with you and yours, and as a matter of fact, so do I.”

Her frustration was palpable, and Dean knew he was getting on her last nerve. He hadn’t wanted to show all the cards straight off, but if that’s what it was going to take, then he’d just have to suck it up. “Alright, fine. We need to open a door to hell, bypassing Purgatory. Like a Devil’s Gate in reverse.”

“See, that’s wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Tessa grinned. With her hair shorter and that almost-carefree smile on her face, she seemed more like the girl she’d pretended to be when he first met her than the Reaper she actually was. She sobered quickly though, the seriousness of the conversation and her eagerness to get back to work dampening the lift of her lips. “I’ll ask him to come, but I can’t guarantee he will, or that he’ll help. And all joking aside, you do know that what you’re asking may not come cheap, yes?”

It had occurred to him.

“Good,” she nodded, walking toward him again. “It’s time for you to go back; he’ll find you if he’s willing to ...lend a hand.”

She came in close, closer than before until she could press a kiss to his cheek. Her lips were warmer than Dean had expected, just as they had been when she’d planted one on him in that kid Cole’s house, back when it was all Seals and enigmatic angels.

“You know, I guess I was wrong, Dean,” she said as she pulled away. “There was something good in store for you. Just be sure to hang on to it.”

Dean watched her walk away, and the house seemed to blur around him. As it slowly whited-out, he heard her parting words, “And take care of yourself - I don’t want to see you for a long time.”

* * *

Dean had been under for four hours, and in that time Sam’s grip on Gabriel’s hand had only become tighter. Castiel had begun by standing against the nearest wall, but after only forty minutes he’d migrated closer and closer until he was seated on the couch with Dean’s head in his lap.

Gabriel and Sam weren’t vastly different. After ten minutes, when it became clear Dean wasn’t going to be in and out again, Sam had reluctantly slumped into the mis-matched chair, and Gabriel had balanced himself on the arm. Sam had taken his hand straight away, and only let go when Dean gasped awake.

He coughed and groped for Castiel’s hand. “Never get used to that,” he said, voice hoarse.

“You’re not going to get the chance,” Castiel tangled his fingers with Dean’s where they had been carding through the hunter’s short hair. “How do you feel?”

“Like death,” Dean quipped.

Gabriel shook his head, with a reluctant smile. “That’s not at all funny.”

“Yeah, well, the real deal should be showing up some time soon,” he pulled himself up to sit beside Castiel, the effort of that simple move leaving him slightly out of breath. He leaned against the angel, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Tessa said she’d present the plan to him.”

“Tessa? Again?”

Dean nodded.

“Well, it’s a start,” Sam said, optimistically. “What else did she have to say?”

“Oh,” he waved a hand carelessly, “How she doesn’t want to see me for a long time. How busy she is. How I never make her feel special.”

“For which I am glad,” Castiel all but growled.

Dean opened one eye and Gabriel could feel surprise and unbridled amusement rolling off him in waves. There was an undercurrent of something else, prompted by the low, gravelly tone, but Gabriel veered away from naming it.

It was one thing to get those two together, it was another thing to identify Dean’s lust.

 _Oh, God._ Gabriel cringed.

“What time is it?” Dean asked, frowning at the windows. The sun had set while he’d been dead.

“It’s time,” an unfamiliar voice intoned from the kitchen, “You boys cease creating messes you are unable to resolve for yourselves.”

Bobby stood from his chair and reached for the revolver on his desk. He and the boys walked into the kitchen warily, though they were all fairly certain of who was chastising them.

Death was fixing himself a cup of tea.

That was a turn up for the books, Gabriel felt like remarking; especially considering Bobby had no tea in his home, let alone Earl Grey.

And they’d ran out of milk two days ago.

“I wish people would stop just appearing in here,” Bobby griped.

“I’m not _people_ ,” rebutted their guest. He stirred a spoonful of sugar into his cup – not one from Bobby’s meagre collection – and arched an eyebrow. “And I don’t appreciate your using my Reapers as messengers,” he said mildly.

“We’re sorry,” Sam stepped forward, wrapping his hands over the back of one of the dining chairs, his knuckles white as he gripped the pine tightly. “We didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

“I do see how that could pose a problem, yes. Do take a seat, gentlemen,” he gestured to the kitchen table with his free hand. “One of you could certainly provide extra chairs and space, I’m sure. This discussion requires some depth and you may as well be comfortable.”

There were six of them and only five chairs, and it would have been a tight fit. Gabriel shrugged and though he could will his intention into an alteration of reality without any special effects, he still snapped his fingers out of habit. The table lengthened and the kitchen expanded just a little to accommodate it; an extra chair appeared, suitably ill-fitting with the rest of the decor and assorted furniture.

Death took the seat at the head of the oval-shaped pine kitchen table, an addition Gabriel had made within the first few days of his arrival, when Bobby was off test-driving his legs and the little rickety picnic table just wouldn’t do. Bobby took the seat at the opposite end, and Dean, Sam, Castiel and Gabriel settled into their now-customary places; Castiel next to Dean, and Gabriel beside Sam.

“Tessa communicated your request. Why is it,” he took a slow sip of tea, “you need to open a portal into Hell at all?”

Four pairs of eyes turned to Gabriel, while Death looked to each of them impassively. He finally settled his gaze, “It would seem they expect you to answer, Gabriel.”

“That’s fair. It is my plan, after all,” he still glowered at Sam half-heartedly. “I have a ritual, an old Enochian spell, which will force every demon on Earth back into Hell. The slight drawback with our plan is that without an open gate, they’ll simply by pushed into Purgatory. We need an open channel, and one that is a direct, one-way system from up here to down below.”

“I see. And where is it you anticipate my assistance?”

“The horsemen’s rings come together to form a passage from Earth to Lucifer’s cage in Hell.”

“Correct.”

“We were hoping your ring would be capable of changing the destination as well as letting us bypass Purgatory.”

“It is certainly capable of that, when used in conjunction with another of the rings,” Death confirmed, his tone deceptively mild. “But why should I simply hand over my ring to you? To put it crassly: what is in this for me?”

It was a fair question, one they’d all expected and yet had no answer for. Their only bargaining chip – Lucifer’s hold over Death – was useless now the Apocalypse was all but over. But rather than being disappointed by their lack of offers, Death looked quietly amused. “Yes, I had expected that would cause you some difficulty. I have a suggestion – if I may?”

“Wait, a deal?” Sam asked warily, sharing an unsettled glance with his brother.

“Of sorts.”

“Alright,” Dean nodded, having expected it as well as being warned by Tessa, “We’ll hear it.”

“Dean-”

“No harm in hearing the terms, Sammy,” he reasoned, and though Gabriel had his own reservations added to those he could feel from Sam, he was impressed by Dean’s maturity about the situation. “What do you want?”

“I want your next death to be your last,” Death decreed. Though his expression betrayed some of his disgust, it was more an intensity of his gaze that hammered home his point to the boys. “When all human methods of resuscitation have been exhausted, and one of my Reapers comes for you, you will not return to Earth. You will be shepherded directly to Heaven, and there you will stay. Are we agreed?”

As terms went, Gabriel felt they were more than fair. After all, he and Castiel were going to try their damnedest to have Dean and Sam live as long lives as possible, and God Himself had given the boys get-out-of-jail-free cards straight to Heaven when their time came. All that considered, it only took circle of brief glances - Dean to Castiel, Sam to Gabriel and finally Sam to Dean – to come to the decision; Sam spoke for them all, “We agree.”

“Good,” Death didn’t smile, but he certainly seemed satisfied. “Then, as do I. First, you must acquire the ring belonging to Pestilence, and you’ll need mine to bypass Purgatory completely. My ring and his are the two which hold the most power. After all, in time man will eradicate famine, and one day there will be no need for war; disease will persist and Death,” he raised an eyebrow, “is inevitable.”

Gabriel quashed an irreverent comment about amateur dramatics; it wasn’t the time or place, and this was Death. He had some sense of propriety, and the guy was pissed at presumptuous archangels as it was. Instead, he said: “We couldn’t use your ring with War’s or Famine’s?”

“Not with the same degree of ease, and I doubt you’d be so irresponsible as to leave the fourth horseman at large?”

“We, uh,” Dean fidgeted with a thread on his shirt sleeve. “We have a plan.”

“Of this I am sure,” and who knew Death could be so bitingly sarcastic? He drained the last of his cup of tea in one mouthful. “Very well. Once you have Pestilence’s ring in your possession, I will return and allow you to use my own.”

In the space of a blink, Death was gone, leaving his empty china cup and saucer behind.

“Well,” Gabriel rubbed his hands together with no small amount of glee. “I love it when a plan comes together.”

* * *

Sam was slowly waking beside him. Gabriel, his head pillowed on Sam’s chest, could feel Sam’s deep breaths gently becoming shallower. He wondered how long he could convince his lover to just stay here, in bed where it was warm, quiet and safe.

They were planning to catch-up with Pestilence today.

It wasn’t that Gabriel expected trouble, or even for things to go badly. They had a solid plan and were almost certain that the final horseman was exactly where they thought he was – a hospital in southern Illinois. All they had to do was protect the boys’ health and it would be a cake walk.

But it didn’t necessarily stop him from worrying.

Sam rolled sleepily until he was effectively Gabriel’s personal human blanket, and he buried his face in the archangel’s neck. “Don’t wanna go to school today,” he mumbled into Gabriel’s skin. Gabriel stroked his palm down the planes of Sam’s back in long motions, his other hand holding Sam’s hip to keep him close. Okay, so Sam was less ‘human blanket’, more ‘human teddy bear’.

“Big day,” Gabriel’s lips brushed Sam’s ear as he spoke. “But I guess we can sleep in a little.” Teeth grazed over the skin where Gabriel’s neck met his shoulder and he shivered against Sam. “Or, you know, not sleep.”

* * *

It was pathetic: the way Pestilence saw the four of them, shrugged and surrendered his ring.

Anticlimactic, in fact.

* * *

He was hiding, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it - at least to himself. Dean and Bobby were downstairs, shooting the shit with a couple of beers; Castiel was watching them like they were some sort of sociological experiment and Gabriel... he’d reluctantly vacated the building, gone to gather materials for their ritual to open up Hell as soon as Death had appeared to hand over his ring.

That left Sam, in his bedroom alone, left to ponder just how insanely his life had changed in the space of a week.

Seven days ago, they’d been laying low, hosting two God-seeking archangels under their roof and hiding from Lucifer and Michael. Sam had been nursing a seemingly hopeless infatuation with Gabriel, who had seemingly been trying to woo Dean. Dean and Castiel had been.... the same, just without any actual sex to speak of, and Bobby had run away to escape the drama of it all.

Then Sam and Gabriel had cleared up their misunderstanding, Dean and Castiel had stopped beating about the bush and after an afternoon of long-awaited sexual encounters on both sides, God of all people had shown up and declared the Apocalypse over.

After months of trying to avoid becoming Lucifer’s meat-suit, and then over a year trying to prevent the end of days – only to start it... it was a whiplash-worthy about-face.

So was it any wonder that Sam was finding it just a little difficult to adjust?

He was finally, really sleeping, under the constant watch of his lover, an archangel of the Lord. He was well fed, well rested, and was getting regular, spectacular orgasms. Their merry band was on a mission from God Himself – or Herself, or Hirself; he wasn’t quite sure how the pronouns were meant to work for the Almighty – and had made a deal with Death to complete said mission; and tomorrow they would open up a portal linking Earth with Hell and use a spell almost as old as Humanity itself to force every demon on this plane back where they were created.

It was ambitious, it was crazy and it was almost certain to work - which made it something of an oddity in the grand scheme of Winchester-executed plans.

Sam knew his life was pretty damn good right now. He’d go so far as to say it was the best it had ever been.

So why was he up here, alone, hiding?

He’d never quite been on Dean’s scale when it came to emotional issues, but Sam wasn’t immune. He was aware of that – hell, his own emotional problems started an Apocalypse. But he’d never expected that he’d try and sabotage a good thing by shutting himself off from it.

He couldn’t even work out why he was bothered, but since gearing up for their non-confrontation with Pestilence, where Sam and Dean had spent thirty-five minutes standing still while their archangels wove protective magic around them, he’d been pissy.

Like, thinking-Gabriel-wanted-Dean-and-acting-like-a-child-about-it pissy.

It wasn’t remotely attractive, which was probably why Gabriel had taken the first excuse to leave Sam alone for a while and ran. Sam appreciated and hated it in equal measure.

A knock at the bedroom door drew him from his thoughts.

The knock wasn’t Dean’s; it was an unfamiliar, very regular _tap-tap-tap-tap_. Sam guessed it was probably Castiel. After all, Gabriel wouldn’t have knocked at all, and Bobby had all but refused to use the first floor of his own house since the two relationships had begun.

He had no idea what Castiel could possibly want to speak to him about, but he shuffled off the bed and walked over to open the door anyway.

It wasn’t Castiel.

For a split second, he almost thought there was no-one at the door. His eyes had settled where he expected to meet the gaze of someone he knew, roughly around the six-feet high mark. His gaze drifted down, and down, and further until he realised his visitor was only the height of a young girl.

“Um, hi. Hello,” Sam fumbled his words, faced with God standing in front of him.

She smiled benignly. “Samuel. May I come in? I’d like to speak with you.”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” he held the door open, natural gentlemanly instincts making themselves known even in the presence of the entity least requiring it in existence. He closed the door behind her and watched as She hopped up to sit on the end of the bed, back against the foot-board. She crossed her legs like She was a child awaiting story time, and She beckoned for him to join her with a gentle pat of her hand on the bedspread.

“You can... you can call me Sam,” he offered, mirroring her posture as he sat himself against the headboard opposite her.

“If you prefer,” She nodded. “You’re troubled.”

“When am I not,” he mumbled under his breath. He didn’t expect it to go unnoticed and wasn’t disappointed when the comment elicited an indulgent smile from God. She clasped her hands together and seemed content to wait for Sam to speak. “I feel... I don’t know what I feel. Since going up against Pestilence, I’ve been - _off_.”

“Since meeting him, or before?” Her tone was gentle, almost motherly. Though She undoubtedly knew the answer, She didn’t indicate it at all.

Sam shrugged, his shoulders hunching as he seemed to fold in on himself. “Before, I guess. When I think about it, I don’t really know the last time I was comfortable in my own skin. It’s been better lately, since...” he trailed off, picking up on another thought. “I don’t think I’d recognise normal if I felt it at all.”

“Sam, don’t you realise yet? There’s no such thing as ‘normal’,” She replied kindly. “You have a fresh start here; a new life with a million possibilities. Are you really going to dwell in the past?”

“But how am I going to be sure I won’t make the same kind of mistakes?”

“Mistakes,” She approximated a shrug, “Are how you learn. You’re not going to get it right every time, Sam. And if there’s one thing you must remember, it’s this: many of your so-called mistakes were not of your own making.”

“That feels like an excuse.”

“It’s not. Sam, what it comes down to is: are you sorry?”

There was no hesitation: “Yes.”

She nodded, accepting his answer. “Would you make the same choices – drinking Ruby’s blood, killing Lilith – if you’d known what would happen?”

“ _Never._ ”

“Then are you going to spend every day of your life seeking redemption for something you’re already forgiven for?”

“I-” He was overwhelmed and looked away.

“It’s no way to live a life, Sam,” She said gently, leaning forward to catch his eye. “Do good deeds because it feels good, because it _is_ good to do them. Don’t carry out good deeds out of a desire to make up for something or to be rewarded – it’s selfish.”

He clenched his teeth, biting back a sob.

“You’ve more than atoned for your actions, Sam, however manipulated you were into them.” She took his hand. “I forgive you. Please, forgive yourself?”

“I don’t know if I know how,” he mumbled.

This seemed to amuse her. “You Winchesters,” She said with exasperation. “You’ll find a way, you always do. I have faith.”

His laugh was a little rough, but his face was dry and he was smiling. He was beginning to feel lighter.

“Gabriel’s on his way back,” She was looking out of the window, then turned to him with a pointed look.

Sam had an awful feeling he was about to get the ‘father of the girlfriend’ speech.

He was about to given the ‘father of the girlfriend’ speech _by God_.

Oh, God.

She laughed. “Relax Sam. Gabriel can take care of himself and I wouldn’t presume to interfere. If anything, I’d be warning him to treat you correctly.”

He blushed. God was trying to protect him from Gabriel; what was his life?

“I best go,” She sighed, smoothing wrinkles in her sundress over her knees. She seemed reluctant to leave. “Time passes differently on Earth compared to Heaven, and I’ve been following the rules of Time for an hour or so now.”

“Time passes... so it’s like Hell? Four months was forty years?” Now he thought about it, it made sense to at least have time passing at the same rate in Heaven as it did in Hell. “Why have Earth Time moving slower?”

“It’s not that Time moves differently,” She explained patiently. “It’s that Time has a different meaning in Heaven and in Hell. Both places are eternal, everlasting, where the Earth is finite.”

Sam frowned. He didn’t quite understand, but then he didn’t think he was really expected to. “So how long have you been away from Heaven, if you’ve been down here for an hour?”

“I suppose a week, a few days more than that perhaps. Again, the passage of Time is defined differently. I can look down from Heaven and see an instant pass by at the rate of an eon, or I can take a celestial instant to see an age of the Earth.”

“Wow.”

The door opened and Gabriel strode in, barely faltering to see his Father sat upon the bed. He settled himself on the bed to sit beside Sam. “Dad. What brings you here?”

“This and that,” She replied, because Gabriel knew full well She’d finally found time to speak with Sam alone. Gabriel had disappeared off to ‘retrieve supplies’ in order to _make_ that time. “But I was just leaving.”

She gracefully slid off the bed, and straightened her dress. “I trust you are ready for tonight?”

“Got everything I need,” Gabriel nodded.

“Good. Think about what I said, Sam,” She smiled kindly, “And remember it.”

Then She was gone.

Gabriel blinked. “Good talk?”

“Yeah,” Sam uncrossed his legs, remembering why he never sat that way – it fucking hurt with such long legs. He grinned, “It really was.”

His grace had taken to constantly giving Gabriel a channel to what Sam was feeling. For the most part, it hadn’t changed in the last few days: happiness and concern with just an undercurrent of angst. He’d begun to just accept that was just Sam’s emotional default nowadays, and in the grand scheme of things, Gabriel could live with that.

Sam was a Winchester, after all. He was never going to be the picture of emotional stability.

But as Gabriel’s grace brushed Sam’s soul, it was almost like seeing a new person. Sam was full of new purpose, with that angst diminished to be on par with any Joe Ordinary walking the streets, and there was something strangely like contentment bubbling through him.

It was extraordinary.

“Are we really set for tonight?”

“Holy Oil, spray paint, more salt,” he shrugged, taking one of Sam’s hands in his. He stroked Sam’s palm with his fingertips and smiled as his lover’s fingers twitched at the tickling sensation. “It’ll go off without a hitch.”

* * *

They’d had to choose their venue carefully. Gabriel had glossed over the details early on, but now they had what they needed to carry out the ritual, he’d become more forthcoming. Once the portal was open, every demon would be ripped from the body of the poor soul it was possessing – thankfully leaving the person intact; as long as they hadn’t suffered any severe physical damage, Gabriel was sure they’d live – and the demons would be pulled to the portal.

On the surface, so far so good.

Of course, they’d be standing around said portal making sure the ritual was completed.

With every demon on Earth being pulled toward them, it wasn’t exactly a great idea to execute the ritual in Bobby’s living room.

An unused, neglected field a few miles away was a better option.

The ritual itself, as well as a need to be discreet, necessitated they wait until nightfall to begin, and dusk found Sam, Gabriel, Dean, Castiel and Bobby stood at the five points of a ten feet wide pentacle drawn on the salted earth in the holy oil and black spray paint Gabriel had acquired earlier in the day.

For a late February night, it was pleasant: the air was still and cool, and not uncomfortable. They didn’t have to shout through gales or battle ominous cracks of lightening. It certainly didn’t look or feel as dramatic as it should have.

“I wanted storms! I wanted drama!” Gabriel huffed. “I wanted villagers with pitch-forks hunting us down as abominations!”

“Can we not use the A-word?” Sam griped, though he was grinning. He glanced at Castiel, who looked characteristically unbothered. Dean just rolled his eyes. “And put your hand down Gabriel, I can see you’re ready to click your fingers. We’re doing this the boring, non-Hammer House of Horror way.”

Gabriel turned wide, innocent eyes on Sam and relaxed his hands. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“If you two girls are done bitchin’,” Bobby was looking mightily unimpressed, stood on his point of the star, “We’ve got a ritual to be doing.”

“The man speaks the truth,” Gabriel said, gesturing emphatically with his hands. “If everyone’s ready, we’ll get this show on the road. Remember what I said about staying the hell outta dodge once the demons come a-rushing to the picnic.”

They all stilled any unnecessary movement, keeping their hands by their sides and breathing as evenly as they were able. There was an almost imperceptible shift in the air, and both Sam (to Gabriel’s right) and Dean (to Gabriel’s left and Castiel’s right) felt the now-unmistakeable brush of feathers against their skin.

They’d been warned the two archangels would be uncasing their wings for the occasion to create a boundary; they couldn’t afford to have demons escaping.

Gabriel closed his eyes and began to speak, low clipped words of the Enochian spell-masters falling from his mouth slowly. He held Pestilence’s ring in the palm of his outstretched left hand, and Death’s in the palm of his right.

It began with a tremble.

The dying grass around them swayed without a breeze, stronger and stronger until it became clear that the pentacle was the epicentre of the quake in the earth. Gabriel had given strict instructions not to move, however, and they all stood their ground. The pentacle began to glow a blue-violet, like someone was shining black light on it. Sam inappropriately thought it would look right at home on the dance floor of a theme club.

With his head bowed, Gabriel brought his hands together slowly, but just as he was about to clasp his hands and force the rings to bind without their two partners, hands seized each wrist from either side.

“Please stop,” Aziraphale asked urgently.

Prematurely interrupted, the ritual ended; the ground stopped shaking and the pentacle lost its luminescent shine. The rings, which had been repelling each other like magnets for the last few minutes, dissipated their energy.

“You better have a damn good explanation, Zee,” Gabriel bit out furiously. He shook off his two captors, who seemed quite happy to let him go now the ritual had been scuppered.

“He does actually,” Crowley replied casually.

Castiel appeared relatively unperturbed, but Dean and Sam were alarmed. “Crowley?” Dean growled, “What the hell? And who’re you?”

“My name is Aziraphale. I’m a Principality,” Aziraphale sighed, “But people make jokes about that kind of thing nowadays. Shall we take this indoors? I feel the need for a cup of tea.”

Dean frowned. “Principality? I don’t get it.”

“Fine. We’re screwed now anyway, party’s over, you can cry if you want to. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Gabriel shoved the rings into his pockets and swore fiercely. With mock-brightness, he grinned viciously, “Tea anyone?”

With a click of his fingers they were all in Bobby’s living room, standing clustered together in the far smaller space so no-one found themselves stuck inside a wall.

Dean and Sam stepped forward as the angels moved back. “Crowley-”

“ _This_ is Crowley?” Bobby joined the wall of pissed off hunters. Aziraphale, though clearly concerned, had taken a step back and Gabriel shot him a disappointed glance. He hadn’t been aware of Crowley’s involvement in their doomed confrontation with Lucifer.

Rather than being intimidated by the three men, Crowley simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Good to know my reputation precedes me. Rocky, Bullwinkle, and Friends - always a pleasure.”

“The Colt was useless, you bastard!” Dean raged. “We lost Jo and Ellen because of that clusterfuck!”

“Well, I didn’t know,” Crowley frowned, throwing his hands up in a surrender. “I’m sorry you lost people but if I’d thought it wouldn’t work, I wouldn’t have given it to you.”

To Gabriel’s surprise, Castiel stepped between the demon and his accusers. “Dean, let’s see why he and Aziraphale are here. It’ll do us no good to toss blame around now.”

“Ellen and Jo, Cas,” Dean implored under his breath, even as he stepped away. Castiel of all people knew how devastating their loss had been. “They died for nothing.”

“They died to allow you us to escape, to give us a chance to defeat Lucifer – which we have done,” his hesitation over whatever he was about to say next was clear, but he let slip the words regardless, “I’m sure they’re proud of you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed accusingly, hurt by the casual way their approval was thrown to him.

“Don’t Cas. We got them killed and they didn’t deserve it.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Is there any chance you can postpone your domestic to some other time when I won’t be imminently _ripped from my body_ and _shoved down into Hell_?”

“Yeah, good riddance,” Dean spat, feeling ruthless.

But Gabriel was shaking his head. “You won’t be affected, your soul-bond with Aziraphale will keep you uniquely tethered.”

Aziraphale blushed, and Crowley cleared his throat awkwardly. “About that...” He said.

Horror dawned on Gabriel’s face, “Oh, you’re not telling me...” He seemed to be grasping for words, rendered speechless, then he looked to the ceiling, “It’s times like this the third commandment really _sucks_ , Dad.”

Dean frowned and leaned toward Sam, asking in an undertone. “’Remember the Sabbath and keep it Holy?’”

“In Catholicism yes, but most denominations agree the third commandment to be not to take the Lord’s name in vain,” he replied swiftly. “I guess-”

“It would appear,” Gabriel picked up scathingly from Sam, “That I have assumed incorrectly. You’d think that since you’ve been together since the beginning of the _Earth_ , you’d have taken care of this!”

“It, um, that is to say, it never came up,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“And thanks for forcing the issue,” Crowley had his hands in his pockets now, his shoulders hunched. “Some people had _plans_ you know.”

“I’m sure you did, my dear.”

“So...” Sam interrupted, sitting on the arm of the sofa, “You’re _not_ soul-bonded then?”

Aziraphale pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “No.”

“And Crowley would have been pulled out and down with every other demon?”

“Yes,” the angel confirmed, even as Crowley huffed.

Dean wasn’t at all bothered, declaring: “And that’s fine with me.”

“Dean.”

“Sam,” he grimaced.

“Both of you, shut up,” Bobby snapped. “So an angel and a demon can actually bind themselves that way?”

“It’s difficult, but not impossible. It’s only been done once before, however,” Aziraphale let his gaze travel around the room, taking in the endless stacks of books and rare reference texts. Gabriel could tell from his eyes alone that the angel wanted to dive right in and not surface for a century or two.

Gabriel rubbed a hand wearily over his face. “Okay, so how did you know we were doing this. Did Dad let you know? Because I’m gonna be seriously hacked off if he couldn’t have just _told_ me this in the first place.”

“And if you could sense it coming, Crowley,” Sam added, “We could have a serious problem on our hands. We have to wait a whole day to try again. We could end up with an army of demons out to stop us.”

“I couldn’t,” Crowley assured them. “It’s just that Zira here could give a demon a run for his money in terms of paranoia – he’s had a ...I hesitate to say psychic-”

“She’s Sensitive,” Aziraphale said diplomatically.

“Right, anyway, she’s been keeping an eye out for uses of rituals like this for a while now.”

“I could kill you both myself,” Gabriel muttered. “So are we going to have to do this the easy way? Or the hard way?” He dreaded to think what the hard way would be – they’d be back to exorcising and killing demons individually, whenever they came across them, which was just _annoying_.

“Oh, the easy way,” Aziraphale nodded, smiling brightly. “I’m certain you can repeat the ritual tomorrow night.”

“We just couldn’t have you do it, you know, _yet_ ,” Crowley added. He too was grinning rather too widely, looking far too pleased with himself.

Dean raised his hand like it was a classroom discussion. It earned him a few confused and amused looks. “Wait, so,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “You’re going to...”

“Soul-bond,” Castiel supplied. Gabriel could see the archangel was paying more attention than usual to Dean’s reactions.

“Which means, what exactly?”

Aziraphale nodded, looking every inch the quintessential Oxbridge lecturer, in a woollen sleeveless jumper over a plaid shirt and drab trousers. The glasses and curls (worthy of a Classical cherub painting) didn’t dispel the image remotely. “It essentially ties two souls together. A soul-bond can’t be broken easily, can’t be weakened at all and exists even after death. It would keep Crowley tethered to this plane while you performed your ritual, and allow me to know where he was at all times, and vice versa.”

“Would it allow you into Heaven, with Aziraphale?” Sam asked Crowley. “Or would you be stuck at the gates?”

Gabriel shrugged, answering when Crowley and Aziraphale both seemed to quell from the question. He didn’t blame them in the circumstances. “The only other angel-demon soul-bond was dissolved, forcibly. It never got that far. I’m sure if Crowley worked hard enough to keep his nose clean, Dad would be sympathetic.”

“Who were the other pair?” Dean asked.

He cringed. “You met Anael, right? Anna?”

Gabriel was curious to see Dean blush ever so slightly, and his soul darkened with anger too, just for a moment. That was probably a story worth hearing; he’d heard Michael had struck her down. “Yeah,” Dean replied slowly.

“She had a soul-bond with Azazel. He fell with Sammael,” Gabriel didn’t like remembering anything of this time. “The soul-bond remained, even with him in Hell and she in Heaven. Since no-one had ever dissolved a soul-bond, we were wary to break it. Anael was an angel of high standing, very capable. When they were reunited, after millennia, he was unrecognisable.”

“That’s a polite way to put it,” Crowley said under his breath.

“She asked for the soul-bond to be dissolved, but to do it...” Gabriel sighed, “Raphael believed that if Anael were to be cast down, the shock would be enough to allow him to snap the bond before it reformed between what was left of Azazel’s grace, and Anna’s human soul.”

Grief suffused the room, and Sam swallowed tightly, “Azazel? As in...”

“Yeah,” Gabriel hated being the bearer of bad news where Sam was concerned. The fact that Azazel had once been an angel wasn’t widely known, and his relationship with Anna even less so. Few people had connected Azazel the demon with Azazel, Lucifer’s lieutenant in the war.

“She fell to break the soul-bond she had with the Yellow Eyed Demon?”

Dean stood up abruptly and left the room. Castiel made move to follow him but Sam shook his head. “Don’t Cas. He’s... just give him some space.”

“Well, I’m sorry to break up the history lesson,” Crowley cleared his throat and smashed the awkward moment as best he could. “But we have a ritual of our own to be getting on with.” He took Aziraphale’s hand. “We’ll see you chumps some other time, yeah? Don’t wait up.”

Aziraphale gave an apologetic smile with his farewell wave, and then they were gone in a fluttering sound of wingbeats.

“Because copious amounts of sex is a burden of a ritual to perform,” Gabriel scoffed.

“That’s seriously all there is to it?” Sam was clearly disappointed. “If it’s so rare, you’d think it was more complicated.”

“Oh, it’s a little more complicated than that,” the archangel rolled his eyes, trying not to wonder where Sam’s sudden curiosity came from. He hoped it was just his nerdy tendencies making themselves known. “Words, oils, that kind of thing. But as rituals go? Probably one of the better ones.”

“You’ve...” He couldn’t get the question out, couldn’t decide whether it was an appropriate thing to ask of his lover or not. It was almost like the ultimate faux pas of asking about previous partners. It just didn’t seem _right_.

Gabriel took pity on him. It was almost adorable the way Sam seemed to by tying himself in knots, after all. “No,” he said. “I’ve never had a soul-bond. They are very rare. After all, angels can’t be killed easily, and soul-bonds are eternal.”

“Right.”

Sam was still anxious, which Gabriel couldn’t quite understand. He thought about eavesdropping on his thoughts, but he was trying not to do that. He wanted Sam to be able to _tell_ him things, not just have Gabriel pluck them from his brain. Still, Sam said no more on the matter and Gabriel guessed he’d just have to be patient.

“Guess I’m going to go see what I can read on soul-bonds,” Bobby huffed. “With you two winged monkeys around, I’m probably going to need to know.”

They all chose to ignore him.

* * *

It was far easier to find Dean alone, than Sam. She knew Gabriel, Sam and Castiel to be in the kitchen, trying to give Dean the space they believed he needed, and Aziraphale and Crowley had left to complete their soul-bonding now they had prevented Crowley’s continued, permanent damnation.

Dean was lain stretched out on the back seat of his own car, his head pillowed on a discarded hoodie of Sam’s he’d pulled from the floor.

She opened the front passenger-side door and slipped into the seat, closing the door after her.

He evidently didn’t look up. “I’m not in the mood to talk to you,” he said, covering all the bases of who could have invaded the front seat of his baby.

“You don’t have to talk,” She replied..

Dean’s heart rate increased in alarm, but he stayed down.

“You know... Anna and Azazel?” He started. “It’s no wonder she went crazy and tried to kill my mom and dad. Hey, look,” he snorted in mock-surprise, “They have something in common.”

She sighed, stung by the loss of them both; Azazel had been cast down when She was ruthless, merciless, and Anna had been cast down long after She’d left. The breaking of their bond had sent shockwaves that reached even her, and how She’d wished in that moment that She hadn’t left.

Azazel’s plan had been in full swing by that point, the children being born and fed. Things had been coming together on both sides – Sam had been born and the end-point had been set. She had been waiting, counting the moments until her two eldest, her first, her lieutenants had been reunited.

“Why didn’t you see that coming, huh?” Dean challenged when She’d said nothing.

But She knew that She should have seen Anael’s fall coming, knowing what Azazel had become. “Allowing myself to be surprised once in a while certainly has its drawbacks.”

Dean cracked one eye open in surprise, but didn’t make a move to sit up. “Bet there aren’t many of those.”

“You’d be surprised,” She admitted, gazing out of the windshield at the house ahead. “Humanity are happy to ask for things they need, things they want, and happy to condemn things they hate. As soon as I try to speak, to give them guidance, too often they don’t want to hear it.” She snorted. “God forbid you tell someone something they don’t want to hear.”

“You took your own name in vain, there,” Dean pointed out, glad this had finally become an actual conversation. Sitting in silence around God was intimidating.

She shrugged, “I forgive myself.”

“It really is just that easy for you, isn’t it?”

His tightly curtailed ire wasn’t surprising. Since Crowley had shown up, Dean had been a fraying rope ready to snap.

It wasn’t coincidental that She’d chosen to speak to him now.

“Yes, Dean. Sometimes it really is just that easy.”

“How? How can it be that easy?” He finally sat up, sliding his legs into the footwell behind the driver’s seat. He leaned over to catch God’s eye. “Some people can do the most heinous things, and all you have to do is say ‘I forgive you’ and you think that’s enough?”

“Would you like to know a secret, Dean?” She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She’d never looked more like the twelve-year-old she appeared to be. “Sometimes, that’s all people need to hear. The point isn’t for me to forgive them,” She turned and looked at him pointedly, “It’s for them to forgive themselves.”

Dean appeared stunned speechless. “That’s some first class manipulation.”

“No, it’s taking advantage of human nature; I should know, I evolved it.”

“And what if they can’t forgive themselves?” He sat back, slumping against the leather.

She smiled sadly, “Then what I say has no bearing. Dean, I know you think you’re beyond saving – that’s not news to you. You just need to realise you’ve already been saved.”

Dean had his eyes clenched tightly shut, and he shook his head minutely in disagreement.

“You weren’t called the Righteous Man for nothing,” She insisted.

“I’ve done things, not just in Hell. Things I regret but things,” he swallowed thickly, tears escaping his eyes before he could hold them back, “Things I would do again, even knowing what I know now.”

“Like?”

“Torturing Alistair; not trying to help Bela. I let Samhain rise instead of letting Uriel smite a town full of innocent people...” His hands curled into fists, “I’d let Jo and Ellen come on that doomed mission to kill Lucifer before he rose Death.”

“It’s my experience that no-one ‘lets’ Joanna nor Ellen do something they do not wish to do,” She rested her chin on her knees. “Dean, there’s no quick fix. And I could tell you a hundred times a day that you’re forgiven, that you did right and when you did wrong, you were repentant. Until you believe you’re worthy, you aren’t going to take my forgiveness.”

“I don’t think that day will ever come,” he replied honestly, in a voice barely loud enough to be a whisper.

“I think it’ll be sooner than you think,” She countered.

They sat in silence.

* * *

“I want you to know,” Sam called over the driving rain and strong wind, “that this is _all your fault_.”

“Me?” Gabriel exclaimed.

Sam nodded, his sopping wet hair plastering itself to his forehead. “You. ‘ _I wanted storms_ ,’ you said. If any villagers with pitch-forks show up, I’m tossing you in this hole.”

“That’s a bit harsh don’t you think?” It was a little rich coming from the archangel who was repelling the rain from his body. Sam felt cheated that he was being denied the sight of a soaking wet Gabriel. Perhaps getting his lover into the shower after this was an idea...

“No,” Sam replied, already anticipating Gabriel becoming fed up with Bobby’s tiny shower and flying them to some opulent five-star honeymoon suite with a six-headed shower, whirlpool bath and the softest towels known to exist. Yeah, that had to happen right the fuck now. “Open this portal so we can get this over with.”

Gabriel was perfectly aware of where Sam’s mind had drifted. “No arguments here.”

He checked the other three were standing in their correct positions, and began to chant. And if he spoke the Enochian a little faster than he had the first attempt round, well.... he had places to be.

The re-touched, hastily waterproofed pentacle glowed and the ground shook just as before when he and Castiel uncased their wings.

This time, no-one interrupted when Gabriel brought the resistant rings together and forced them to bind in the shelter of his palms; the fusion caused a small blast-wave of celestial light – not enough to harm, but enough to make the three humans turn away for a moment.

With supernatural accuracy Gabriel tossed the joined rings, linked together in such a way as to form a lemniscate, to land in the very centre of the pentacle.

It was as if the Earth was dissolving beneath them.

A void opened up, dark and endless, and expanded to the five edges of the pentagon formed by the crossed lines of the five-point star. Gabriel had warned them it would happen, but seeing it was something else; Sam had to fight his instinct to step the hell away.

Hell.

 _Huh_ , Sam thought. Hell is down there, at the end of that seemingly-bottomless pit, and any second now, every demon on earth _bar one_ would be forced down it. Dean had spent forty years down there, and the demons would (hopefully) be trapped there permanently.

Sam realised they were effectively reversing what they’d started with the opening of the Devil’s Gate, nearly two years ago.

The magnitude of what they were about to accomplish finally seemed to dawn on the three hunters.

It started with one mass of smoke, funnelling toward them like iron filings to a magnetic pole. Another followed behind it, and another, then another, and they circled around the edge of the portal as if it were a drain. They ebbed and flowed, moving against the wind, but didn’t move any closer.

Sam had a flash of panic: the demons weren’t being pulled in.

And then Gabriel shouted something incomprehensible in the face of the gale and downpour, and it was as if something had reached up and _dragged_. As more columns of smoke appeared, eventually indistinguishable from each other in one grey-black mass, the circled only once or twice before being snatched inside.

Sam couldn’t say how long they stood there, watching the demons funnel into the void. The rain and wind continued to batter them, lightening flashed and the thunder was indistinguishable from the rumble of the earth shaking.

“How will we know when it’s done?” Sam shouted as the smoke began to thin.

Gabriel didn’t look away from the mass of demons, “It’ll close automatically.”

And it did. With the last demon sucked down, the portal began to narrow slowly, almost as if it were facing resistance. They watched anxiously as the void became smaller and smaller, the pentacle gradually losing its glow until finally, all that was left was scorched earth, faded paint and two rings, unlinked.

It would have been a still, quiet moment, but this was real life and South Dakota to boot: the storm raged on around their triumph.

“So... it’s done?” Dean called.

Gabriel walked forward and picked the rings from the ground. He slid them into a pocket of his jacket. “Yep,” he confirmed brightly, walking over to Sam. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have an appointment to fulfil.” They disappeared.

Dean, Castiel and Bobby stared.

“I don’t wanna know,” Dean grimaced. “I just hope to God they took it somewhere else.”

Castiel frowned disapprovingly.

“It’s not in vain!” He replied to the unspoken chastisement. “I really do pray to Her that they’re not in Bobby’s house right now, where we’d have to put up with it.”

“Can we just go, it’s goddamn miserable out here,” Bobby bitched. “And I ain’t being third in line for the shower after you lot.”

* * *

They re-appeared in a dry, warm room, and Sam didn’t have a chance to take in much more than the sight of marble and glass before Gabriel was pulling him down using his grip on his wet shirt and they were finally kissing.

“I refuse,” Gabriel said between delicious kisses, “to perform any more rituals with you present. You’re too distracting.”

Sam grinned, pushing Gabriel’s heinously dry jacket off his shoulders. The unbuttoning of Gabriel’s crimson silk shirt followed, until the archangel wrenched himself away with a stern look. “I was meant to be peeling you out of your wet clothes, Sam. Don’t deny me after all that day-dreaming.”

He shrugged and threw out his arms as if to say ‘undress away’. It made his shirt tighten over his chest and Gabriel moaned, subconsciously licking his lips. “Okay, so fuck that,” he clicked his fingers and they were both naked, the chill of tile against Sam’s feet startling him.

He took the opportunity to look around quickly. It was a bathroom, not one he’d ever seen before, with a glass-walled, over-six-feet-square shower with multiple shower heads and a whirlpool bath that could probably fit five of him.

It was opulent, decadent and exactly what Sam had imagined.

A click of fingers preceded water flowing from the main shower-head, and Gabriel pushed Sam toward the shower. “You are going to warm up before you catch a cold,” he insisted. “And I’m going to blow you while you’re doing that.”

Sam let himself be herded into the cubicle – could you really call it a cubicle, he wondered, if he could lie down in it at any angle and not touch the walls? – and ducked under the perfectly heated water. “You have the best plans.”

“I’m on a roll today,” Gabriel shrugged with wicked grin. He pressed his mouth to Sam’s, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth as Sam tried to give as good as he got. Sam’s tongue invaded his mouth and tangled with his, thrusting suggestively and reminding Gabriel of all the times they’d kissed before now, in every possible way.

It wasn’t ever going to get old, he could tell.

He conjured a bar of creamy, sandalwood-scented soap and slapped it into Sam’s hand as he slid gracefully to his knees. “Don’t go dropping that.”

Sam felt like he’d been hard forever, since he’d begun imagining how to take Gabriel apart in order to distract himself from the rain. It had worked too well, and as Gabriel’s grace had flowed around them during the ritual, his burgeoning erection had hardly flagged.

They way Gabriel had looked at him when it was all over hadn’t hurt, either: like Sam was a sundae of all thirty-two flavours of Baskin Robbins ice cream topped off with the best chocolate sauce and crunchy sprinkles.

A guy could get used to being looked at like that.

It was pretty much the expression Gabriel had on his face right now, on his knees, slipping his hands up the outsides of Sam’s thighs and eyeing his leaking cock hungrily.

Yeah, that was friggin’ awesome.

“Shouldn’t you be washing, or something,” Gabriel sounded amused, if a little muffled over the sound of the water slapping against skin and tile. He was clearly listening in to Sam’s thoughts, but Sam couldn’t really find it in him in that moment to care – just so long as Gabriel stopped just _staring_ at his dick and actually did something with it.

Gabriel huffed out a laugh before bringing a hand to encircle the base of Sam’s cock.

Sam felt his spine bow just a little from the first touch. He hoped sex would always be this electric with Gabriel, though he couldn’t see why it wouldn’t be.

Then Gabriel ducked his head forward and brought the head of Sam’s dick to his lips, smearing the beaded precome from the tip; when Gabriel licked his lips to remove it, his tongue brushed Sam’s slit and he bucked ever so slightly.

“Patience,” Gabriel chided, even as he opened his mouth and sealed his lips around the head. He flicked his tongue against the tip as he kept up a gentle, sucking pressure that was sure to drive Sam mad. Gabriel looked up through his lashes and it was as if Sam had heard him clear as day: _Patience, lover_.

Sam really didn’t want to be patient, but he could try. For Gabriel, he could certainly try.

He rubbed the creamy bar of soap between his hands, building up a lather in his palms. It seemed to gain Gabriel’s approval, as the hand at the base of Sam’s cock began a slow, sliding jerk and Gabriel moved his lips further down his shaft.

It was positive reinforcement at its _best_.

He drew the lathered bar up to his chest, moving in even, circular motions – Gabriel began to bob his head in time with Sam’s movements.

Sam sped up, Gabriel moved faster; Sam slowed down, Gabriel dragged his lips torturously slow, his tongue flat to the underside of Sam’s dick.

He saw Gabriel wiggle his eyebrows as if to say, ‘it’s your call’. He thought pointedly: “The faster we’re done in here, the faster I recover and the sooner you can be fucking me into whatever mattress you choose.”

Gabriel set his own rhythm from that point, his tongue catching every ridge with delicious friction and his cheeks hollowing. Though he didn’t need to breathe, he was still somewhat limited by simple anatomy, and what he couldn’t take into his mouth at his quickened pace, he stroked with a lather-slickened palm.

Sex in the shower when one participant was required to remain standing was always a challenge, and Sam’s knees were already threatening to buckle. He fought the urge to rest his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders, and moaned in relief when a chrome bar appeared, connecting two glass planes, directly above his head.

Sam held on for the ride. He could feel his spine arching further and further, the pressure building and building with every bob of Gabriel’s head, every slide of his tongue, every jack of his hand.

He tried to choke out a warning but it was as if something had stolen his very breath; his lungs screamed out for air and his heart beat so fast it threatened to explode from his chest. His knuckles were white, clenched tight around the bar for support and just when he thought his spine may well snap –

It was like uncorking a champagne bottle. His spine snapped the other way and he practically curled in on himself. He gasped, gasped and gasped but couldn’t catch his breath. His vision went white and spots of colour seemed to pop as bright as fireworks behind his eyes, and all the while, Gabriel’s hands on his hips kept him in place as he came down the archangel’s throat.

Over-sensitized, he whined as he came down, Gabriel’s tongue seeming impossibly rough now where it had been silky perfection moments before. He could finally take in air, precious oxygen filling his lungs, and it seemed like that flimsy piece of hastily-conjured chrome was the only thing keeping him up.

Gabriel pulled off completely with a satisfied grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat, and with Sam slumped and wrecked, he barely had far to go to lean up and kiss Sam.

He got a mouthful of his own release, and he could have sworn he felt a little aftershock run through his body. He let go of the rail and Gabriel easily took his weight, switching off the water and snapping his fingers.

They were back in their room at Bobby’s.

“Gimme a sec,” Sam mumbled into Gabriel’s shoulder. Gabriel laughed and pulled back the duvet, encouraging the limp and exhausted Sam into the bed.

“Take all the time you need,” he replied, sliding in alongside Sam and arranging their limbs into their usual sleeping positions. “I’ll be right here.”

“Hmm. Return the favour,” he promised, already drifting off, “In t’morning.”

“Sleep, Sammy.”

Sam’s only response was a deep, even sigh.

* * *

“Gabriel, you must speak with Raphael immediately.”

It wasn’t so much a non-sequiteur as it was a bolt from the blue. Gabriel had been in a meditative state, quiet and peaceful while Sam slept beside him. He couldn’t actually sleep, but he could come close, and he’d been enjoying the heavy comfort of Sam’s arm over his waist and his lover’s sleep-slow breaths and snuffling almost-snores. It was the middle of the night, the house had been still now for hours and would be for hours yet.

It was a beautiful night.

So to have his Father suddenly appear at the foot of the bed, looking like a twelve-year-old who’d been grounded and been told her parents weren’t angry, just _disappointed_ – her face was that unique blend of pissed off and ashamed.

The tinge of shame was what prevented Gabriel from making a stupid comment about sleep, Sam or Raphael. “What’s happened?” He sat up, the movement causing Sam to frown without waking and move his hand to slip under his pillow instead.

“He left Heaven in a rage,” She shook her head. “I tried to reason with him but he would not hear me. I had given him Pestilence’s ring to destroy; as my best Healer, I felt it would be appropriate. Now I think he means to take it and use it.”

“He wouldn’t,” Gabriel refused to believe it; not Raphael, not his brother, not after Lucifer. He wouldn’t.

God shook her head. “He has taken the ring and has gone. Track him down, Gabriel, please. Stop him before he does something foolish. I have you all back by my side now. I do not want to lose one of you.”

“Right,” he frowned. He reluctantly leaned down to put his mouth to Sam’s ear. “Gotta go, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

“Mmhmm,” Sam sighed, pulling Gabriel closer.

Gabriel closed his eyes, mindful of his Father in the room and Raphael pulling a Lucifer. He desperately wanted to stay. He pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead and slipped out from the hunter’s arm slung over his waist.

He conjured some clothes, and nodded solemnly at God. “Where is he?”

* * *

It was near midday, the scorching sun high in the sky over the vestigial land of Eden. Settled in the fertile crescent, the Garden had escaped the wars raging through Mesopotamia simply by virtue of its purity.

He found Raphael by the Tree.

“Things were better, before this,” Raphael said, rather than any form of standard greeting.

He had his back to Gabriel, and he took the chance to observe his brother. Even within a vessel, he appeared so different, thin and weary. His grace didn’t shine so bright, and his time in Heaven since Gabriel had last seen him – only a few weeks in Earth’s terms, but months in Heaven’s – hadn’t treated Raphael well.

“Raphael.”

Raphael sighed, but didn’t look away from the Tree; it still stood, improbably lush and strong. “Father sent you? Sometimes you were better than Michael at doing what you were told.”

“He asked me to come, yes,” Gabriel admitted, “He’s worried.”

“Oh yes, He cares so much,” the sarcasm was thick, blasphemous.

Gabriel tried a change of pace. “Are you going to use that ring or are you just playing dress-up?”

Raphael’s laugh chilled him as the Healer archangel turned away from the Tree of Knowledge to face Gabriel. “You’re more corrupted than Lucifer.”

“Sammael,” Gabriel corrected gently.

“ _Lucifer._ He always was, and he always will be,” Raphael’s grace blazed fiercely. “You’re all so keen to forget; forget that he was cast down, forget that he waged war upon us all and forced us to kill our own brothers and sisters, forget that Father abandoned us, forget that you ran from a Godless Heaven.”

“Oh, man, Raph,” Gabriel had better places to be than here, in Eden, listening to him. He said as much and added, “You’re actually considering unleashing a plague upon humanity because you’re feeling _abandoned_? Now we’re all back together? Pull the other one, it has bells on.”

“There,” Raphael snapped. “That. You’re so... human, Gabriel. Sometimes it’s no wonder you ran off to slum it down here. And the pagans? What were you thinking? They’re abominations.”

“They’re imperfect. They make mistakes, they tell lies, they can kill and maim and torture without a second thought,” Gabriel felt his grace trying to form his sword and he resisted. He would not draw arms against his brother. “They make stupid television shows and hate each other for the slightest things. They value money and materials over family and fulfilment, and they begrudge God as much as they rely on Him.”

Raphael opened his mouth as if to agree and Gabriel shook his head, gesturing vehemently.

“But you know what? They’re brilliant. They love and life and create. They don’t just accept this world, they strive to understand it. They make Belgian chocolate and Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream, Hershey bars and roast beef. They make outstanding television shows and funny movies, they try to fix their mistakes and live moral lives. They aren’t all the same and they’re _beautiful_.”

“How can you say that when they’ve taken Eden and perverted it? Some of them don’t even believe in Him!” Raphael raged. “Lucifer was right, they’re no better than us and we should never have stood by and let this happen.”

“Make your mind up, Raphael,” Gabriel snapped, searching for a way to get through to his brother. “You’re either pissed we left you alone with Michael when he was broken, or you’re pissed that Dad approves of his little petri dish growing up.”

There was silence.

Gabriel waited to see what Raphael’s reaction would be, hoping he could just out-logic his brother long enough to take the ring from him, to allow him to realise what he was about to do. Part of him, however, suspected that Raphael knew fine well what he was about to do; he just didn’t care.

Raphael was always the quieter of the four of them. Gabriel had always been the loud-mouth, happy to fill silences, deliver messages and talk his way around anything. Raphael was a healer, respectful, adoring of his Father and family. Michael had been an archangel of action, only seeming to stay still when he was with Sammael, and Sammael was their anchor: bright, outspoken and soft, he was the lynchpin.

“He should have never returned,” Raphael looked away, hardly even whispering.

Gabriel shrugged, “Sammael repented, he earned the right.”

“Lucifer ought to have been struck down, as we were told would happen. Michael is... weak.”

“That’s not what He meant, Raphael, don’t you see? Michael and Sammael were given an opportunity and who are we to say that things didn’t turn out _exactly_ as they were meant? It’s arrogant, it’s prideful to assume we know better!”

“Regardless: I did not mean Lucifer,” Raphael smiled sadly and raised his open hand. Pestilence’s ring was resting in his palm. “Our Father.”

“You can’t mean that.” He was aghast, his eyes caught by Raphael’s. His grace trembled, the conflicting messages to _fight_ and _resist_ weighing heavily. In that moment, with those words from Raphael, Gabriel realised: if he couldn’t get Raphael to relinquish that ring and show remorse, God would strike him down.

“He was wrong,” Raphael insisted though the words seemed difficult to deliver, and Gabriel’s heart began to sink. “He _is_ wrong. This world...”

“Yeah, I get the picture.”

Raphael huffed impatiently, his first sign of frustration in all that sad intensity. He picked the ring from his palm and made motions to put it on.

“Don’t, Raphael,” Gabriel stepped forward urgently. “Whatever it is you think you’re going to do with that ring, just _don’t_. This isn’t the way to deal with your problems.”

He shook his head, and slid the ring into place. “The problem is pandemic, Gabriel, and I have the solution. If our Father refuses to act...” Raphael’s face twisted in disgust, “As He should, then someone must cure the cancer of Humanity on this paradise. Things will be as they once were.”

Gabriel felt his grace flux and he knew what was about to happen. He closed his eyes and ducked his head. There was nothing he could do now.

He was coming.

There was a crack of thunder from the clear, cloudless sky, and God appeared in the space between Raphael and Gabriel.

Raphael was unfazed.

“Raphael,” She shook her head sadly, a heartbreaking look upon the guise of a small girl. “Why would you do this?”

“You know why,” Raphael replied. “This world is sick.” He clasped his hands and Gabriel kept his eyes glued to the motion of Raphael’s fingers as they stroked over the ring.

“Then why would you make _me_ do this?”

“Nothing and no-one makes You do anything,” Raphael replied, the ring twisting around his finger. “I lost my faith long ago but I can still appreciate that.”

“You know what comes next,” their Father said, her hands held in front of her. For all the turmoil Gabriel and Raphael were feeling, and the clear sadness and regret in her eyes, She held herself straight and still, almost calm.

Gabriel wanted to look away but he forced himself to keep his eyes open, gaze glued on Raphael. He’d shown up here, he’d watched this unfold; this was his failure to bear.

“I know.” Raphael calmly pulled the ring off and passed it to God. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Raphael,” She placed a hand to his chest. Impossible tears made her eyes shine in the dawn light. “You’re not.”

And Gabriel continued to watch as God burned Raphael, and all that was left was the ashy remains of his wings floating in the breeze around Eden.

* * *

Gabriel slipped back into bed beside Sam as carefully as he could, trying not to wake the soundly sleeping hunter. He manoeuvred himself as close as he could, relieved when Sam unconsciously pulled Gabriel closer and allowed him to bury his face in Sam’s neck.

He desperately tried to hold back a sob.

“Gabriel?” Sam enquired sleepily. “What’s happened?”

The archangel didn’t answer.

Sam held him tightly without another word until well after sunrise.

He stared out of the window at the pink blush sunset, laid out on the bed. He hadn’t moved all day, had barely said a word, and Sam had stalwartly kept the rest of the house from their door and allowed Gabriel to wallow.

His sigh cracked open the concrete silence that had hardened around them over the long hours.

“I couldn’t have stopped it,” he said with weary realisation. “Raphael turned his back a long time ago, and I made my choice when I left Heaven.”

Sam said nothing, keeping silent the way he had all day and all night. Instead, he reached across the small void between the two of them, over the invisible line that had formed sometime in the morning when Gabriel had pulled away physically as well as mentally, and he took the archangel’s hand in his.

“I don’t regret that choice Sam. I don’t regret a great many things,” he squeezed Sam’s hand, “since they brought me here, to all I have now. I just wish...”

“I know,” Sam brought Gabriel’s hand to his lips, kissing the skin lightly. “He was your brother.”

Gabriel rolled to face Sam, turning his back on the dying daylight. “I’ve never been more glad to have prevented Michael and Lucifer’s fight, Sam. So you didn’t have to kill Dean? I’d have given anything for that.”

Sam pressed his lips to Gabriel’s and pulled him close, until they were practically heart-beat to heart-beat. “Thank you,” he breathed the words into Gabriel’s mouth. “I’m sorry about Raphael.”

Gabriel just nodded.

* * *

It had been five long days, and Gabriel was a hop, skip and a jump from going batshit _insane_.

Bobby had taken a case out of town, leaving the boys to man the phones and ‘deal with this emo crap’ before he got back. Dean had been resolutely avoiding all conversations which could turn to recent events, to the point where breakfast that morning had consisted of he and Gabriel sat with their coffee, discussing the banalities of the weather. And Castiel hadn’t been much better; taking his cue from Dean and helping him reorganise Bobby’s books into some semblance of order. Bobby wouldn’t thank them for it, but it helped them to be doing something.

Meanwhile, Gabriel could have been fooled into thinking he was surrounded by eggshells, the way everyone was tip-toeing around him.

Sam was by far the worst.

He was resolutely acting... normal. He’d been bitching about Dean and Castiel’s mission with the library, he’d been giving Gabriel typical soulful, puppy-dog eyes in a silent encouragement to open up and most of all he’d been attentive and regular and fucking _dependable_. But the alternative? Sam thinking he was a monster for letting his brother spiral out of control like that, for standing by while their Father struck Raphael down? He didn’t want that. Having his lover as a solid presence was a God-send in all terms of the word.

Gabriel didn’t know what he wanted, which was how he found himself sat on Bobby’s front porch, alone.

He could go anywhere, any _when_. He could run and never look back.

The Trickster was always very good at that.

Maybe it was time to face facts: he wasn’t the Trickster any more. He’d carry that experience with him for eternity, but he’d always been Gabriel, deep down. He’d tried so hard to forget when he’d left home, and he’d never be able to forgive or thank the Winchesters enough for upsetting that precarious balance he’d kept.

All of which meant he wasn’t moving from this spot on the front step of Singer’s homestead for a good while, and when he did it would only be to go inside and join Sam in bed. He’d watch his lover sleep, and maybe when Sam woke, they’d have some lazy morning sex, and after breakfast, Gabriel would put Bobby’s books back where they were to start with and provoke a little bitching.

Maybe that would sort out this damn mess and everything could just go back to normal.

A breeze ruffled his hair.

Gabriel clasped his hands, rested his elbows on his knees and ducked his head with a smile.

Yeah, things would be just fine.

* * *

“Why did we wait so very long to do this?” Aziraphale stretched languidly. His wings felt heavy and immovable – all of his limbs did. The new, healing bond-brand on his hip felt wonderfully warm, a radiating tingle in his nerves. He couldn’t lift his head to see it, but he knew the detail was slowly resolving itself – a coiled snake on a bed of feathers.

Fingers traced the edge of the pattern and Crowley shrugged. “I suppose the timing never seemed quite right,” he admitted.

Aziraphale hummed and the air warmed temporarily. He forced his arm to move, to find the matching bond-brand on his lover’s right shoulder blade. “Worth the wait?”

“Oh, undoubtedly, angel,” Crowley pressed closer. “Let’s just hope those mutton-head’s catch a clue faster.”

“Those are my brothers you’re talking about,” Aziraphale replied without heat. “And I think it won’t be too long.”

Crowley cracked open an eye, “Why are we talking about this?”

“You started it!”

“Oh, so mature, angel,” Aziraphale’s blush was hot against Crowley’s forehead; it wasn’t snuggling, Crowley just wanted... to... it was... Oh fine. It was post-coital snuggling, but he was with his bond-mate. He was entitled. “But you’re right, they’ll work it out.”

Aziraphale sighed, “You old romantic, you.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

She slipped into the seat gracefully, her feet swinging underneath the chair as She smoothed her sundress over her knees. “May I?”

Death didn’t smile. “Help yourself, it’s truly delicious pizza.” He watched as She reached out and served a deep slice to a conveniently-appearing plate; She tucked her hair behind her ears and daintily picked up her knife and fork.

“Thank you for your assistance,” She cut a portion of pizza. “I know how you despise cleaning up the messes of others.”

He took a sip of his Coke. “Provided my terms are kept, I’m quite happy to have done it.”

“I’ll see to it,” She agreed. “It’s the least I can do.”

“The balances are even, my friend,” he shook his head.

Her laugh rang through the empty pizzeria, clear and light. “Such an expression, as if all things are meant to even out.”

“Ironic, coming from you,” Death remarked, taking a slow mouthful of pizza. “Considering the concerted effort you’re putting into compensating those boys for their difficult upbringing.”

“I have personally interfered in their lives – the kind of interference which I have avoided for nearly two millennia – as well as the lives of their parents and grandparents, as far back as Cain and Abel. I made them what they are,” She placed down her knife and fork and stared at her half-eaten slice of pizza. “I owe them more than I can possibly repay.”

“And your archangels?”

“They are my family,” She shrugged, stalwartly meeting Death’s gaze. She would not cower in the face of her grief, not in his presence. “Raphael’s loss is... almost insurmountable, but Sammael is home, Michael is happy, Gabriel has returned and I am so very proud of him, and Castiel... he is my dearest child.”

Death glanced away. “I cannot possibly relate.”

“Nonsense,” She laughed, her melancholy moment passing as she picked up her utensils once again. She looked at him slyly. “I have seen your interactions with Tessa. She is a favourite of mine, too.”

“If you will create and angel of death,” he replied wryly, “You cannot expect her to be _dull_.”

“And I am glad you have a compelling companion in your duties. No-one ought to be lonely, even you.”

He swallowed the last mouthful of pizza, and washed it down with the last of his Coke. “I could say quite the same, old friend.”

They shared knowing smiles.

“As much as I enjoy our infrequent chats, I’m afraid I have taken far more time out than I had planned,” Death sighed. “There is a leader in the Middle East who requires my personal attention.”

“I shan’t derail you from your duties, then,” She stood, brushing breadcrumbs from her dress. When She looked again upon Death, She seemed nothing like the young girl She proposed to be. “Until next time.”

“Indeed.”

The pizzeria was empty.


End file.
